Paradisio
by hobbitgrl
Summary: Sequel to "Batgirl Falling." There's angst. There's romance. There's a happy ending. Rated M for graphic everything.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So my sincerest apologies for being so slow to post this. You should know that I know I'm a bastard :)**

Babs grunted as a beefy fist connected with her jaw. Again. When did she get so slow? She ducked the foot flying at her head, but she heard the displacement of air as it grazed her. Rallying she swept his legs, planted her elbow in his sternum, and froze-the palm of her hand stopped at the tip of his nose.

"You win again," Tim grouched at her. "But I almost had you that time."

"You did," she agreed. Shifting her weight, she rose smoothly and grabbed her water bottle.

"What's up with you?" Tim asked innocently.

Babs took her time getting a drink, keeping her back to him. "Just tired," she finally told him.

"Uh-huh," he agreed deadpan. "Cause you always get this slow when you're tired. You seem…distracted."

She finally turned back and met his stare; awareness colored his gaze, but he was too polite to bring it up overtly. "I'm over it, Tim."

"If you say so," he shrugged. "I didn't bring it up. You should know, though, that he's been intolerable for, well, for forever but it's been especially bad—you know, lately."

"He's always intolerable," Barb said taking another swig.

"Yeah," Tim agreed, "but he's been _really_ intolerable. We're talking even Alfred doesn't try to talk to him intolerable."

"He's being mean to Alfred?" she asked then winced. She didn't care. Did not. At all.

"I mean he isn't calling him names or anything," Tim clarified as he packed up his stuff, "but he told Alfred to stay out of the cave yesterday."

Babs stared blankly at that.

"He said, and I quote: 'The cave doesn't need to be cleaned today, Alfred. Why don't you take the day off.'"

"He did not say that."

"You should have seen Alfred's face, Babs," Tim said sadly. "It was like Bruce just came out and called him hired help. I've never seen Alfred look like that."

"Or treated like that," Barb whispered.

"Like I said," Tim went on shrugging, "intolerable."

"Well, Alfred will set him straight," Barb aimed for nonchalance. "They'll work it out like they always do."

"I don't know," Tim said seriously. "Alfred looked pretty hurt. He gave _me_ the silent treatment too like it was my fault!"

"Well what do you want me to do about it?" Barb finally snapped. She certainly couldn't fix anything; that had already been proven twice over.

"Nothing," Tim said quickly, "I just thought you might want to know. You know, how things are at the mansion."

Barb leveled the full power of her stare at him, forcing a blush out of his cheeks.

"Sorry!" Tim squeaked. "Not meddling! See? This is me. Not meddling."

"Go home Tim," Barb told him gently. "Go home and make sure Bruce doesn't force Alfred into early retirement."

After seeing Tim out, Barb collapsed on the couch and turned on the TV. Following her decision to end things with Bruce she had converted one bedroom of her apartment into a workout room. The facilities at the cave were missed but it wasn't worth the risk of running into him. She just knew that if they ended up in the same place at the same time with no chaperones thing would get…complicated. As much as she wanted to tell herself she was over him, or, at the very least, able to control herself, she was too smart to buy her own lie. She wanted him as much now as she did the first time she saw him all those years ago. She was beginning to wonder if she ever wouldn't.

And it wasn't like she could just start dating anyone—who could follow the Batman? Dick had been a good friend, but it wasn't like she could confess all the gory details to him. She could talk about it generally with one of her girlfriends, but they would want to know who he was, what his name was, how they met. She certainly couldn't tell them it was Bruce Wayne any more than she could tell them he was the Batman. He hadn't been in the tabloids much lately, and she did thank the universe for small favors. What was it going to feel like when newsstands were plastered with photos of his smiling face as some stupid hussy clutched his arm? Why were those bimbos always clutching him so obviously anyway? It wasn't like maniacal desperation was a proven seduction technique.

Barb sighed again and tried to focus on the talk show. Somebody's baby daddy was somebody else's brother? Or the brother of the man who thought he was the baby daddy was actually the wife? Barb turned it off and threw the remote down on the couch next to her. With a groan she buried her hands in her hair and let out a frustrated scream at the ceiling. When was this going to end? When was she going to stop missing him every second? She kept catching herself staring out her windows after her patrols, searching for him on a roof staring back. He had done what she asked, so why was she so upset about it?

It wasn't like what they had was a good thing, she reminded herself. Standing she paced into the kitchen for another round of ramen and tea. Chicken or shrimp tonight? Maybe she should just order a pizza? She could run to the store and swing by the mansion, proclaim her ever-lasting love, and beg Bruce to let her have his babies.

Barb began bashing her head into the cabinet.

Hours later Barb crouched still on a roof overlooking Gotham; silently she scanned the city streets, eyes and ears open for the sounds of sirens, alarms, and gun fire. The air had felt charged, ionized for days now and she felt her nerves pulling tight under her skin. Too much was happening—Poison Ivy had seduced her psychiatrist into releasing her; Bane had been set free on a technicality. But worst of all, the one that made her look over her shoulder every time she heard the wind, was the Joker. He was on the loose again. The thought of facing him, especially now that she was patrolling alone every night, made it difficult to focus. The inevitability only wound her nerves tighter; she would face him, and she would defeat him. But she wasn't sure if she would ever stop being terrified of him.

A call came in over the police scanner and she shook off the dark memories, pushing them aside as she went to work. Shooting her grapple she took off toward 6th street and dropped in an alley behind an apartment building. Smoke billowed out from a third story apartment and people were filing out coughing, and teary eyed. Barb scurried up the jutting bricks and rolled through a broken window into the smoke.

Dropping low she pulled her cape across her face as she fished an oxygen mask out of her utility belt. Able to breathe, she began working her way through the dim interior assessing the situation. There was smoke, but no fire; it was too dark for the flickering glow of flames and the air held a chill, not heat. Moving silently she heard no cries for help, no pounding of trapped, desperate people.

The wall next to her exploded and reflex was the only thing keeping her alive. She dodged, rolling free as a giant body crashed behind her in a shower of debris. A…a monster—she didn't know another word for it—hulked in the newly formed doorway. It stood at least eight feet tall, its body upright but more muscled than a human's. It was covered in matted fur and flies swarmed around the misshapen face; tusks jutted out of its jaws with a viscous black liquid dripping in slow, slick lines down the massive body. Glancing behind her Barb froze as she recognized Bruce lying completely still in the pile of rubble; the monster roared, tearing down more of the wall as it forced its way into the room.

Retreating to instincts, Barb placed herself between the Batman's prone form and the beast. Lowering her weight into a crouch she squatted on the balls of her feet watching the muscles twitch as it came at her. It swung and she dodged, but only just. It was immensely powerful and crazy fast—a deadly combination. It charged and Barb dodged again, struggling to stay ahead of it. How was she going to beat this thing while worrying about Bruce? He still wasn't moving. It swung, but this time it anticipated her dodge and a massive, hairy claw raked across her torso; Barb couldn't stifle the scream.

Her chest burned as she forced herself to move through the pain. Its claws had to be poisoned; there was no other explanation for the way her skin felt like it was being eaten away. Sparing a quick glance down she saw her uniform, and the skin exposed beneath it, bubbling-there was acid on its claws. Blinking away tears of pain, she pulled a neutralizer from the back of the belt and emptied it down her front; the worst of the pain tapered off as the acid was diluted. It roared, swinging wildly, and Barb decided to go up. Jumping straight into the air, she grabbed an exposed pipe and vaulted herself over the dripping tusks, twisting in midair, and came down on its back.

Its size worked to her advantage here; it couldn't get its hands behind its head to strike at her. Roaring in fury the monster flailed, but she clung to it like a burr as she struck at pressure points, weak spots, anywhere she thought might hurt it. Nothing worked and it only seemed more irritated than hurt as it slammed back into one of the few remaining walls; Barb felt her lungs collapse as its huge body squashed her into the wall. Desperate now, knowing it was learning, she went for the eyes. She felt goop explode over her gloves and the monster howled in pain shaking more dust into the air. Spinning around it slammed her into another wall, then again, and again. Hanging on by sheer stubbornness Barb fought the blackness closing in on her. She felt the massive muscles shifting beneath her grip, picking up speed as it charged. She really hoped it didn't run out of the building into that three story drop.

The beast avoided the outer wall, running instead straight through a connecting wall into the next room. Half unconscious she felt her mask rip away and started choking on dust, blinking rapidly; Barb tried to push off when she finally registered they were stopped, the giant body shuddering beneath her grip. Pushing back she saw spots as pain ripped her torso in half; looking down she saw three support beams tying her to the monster. Stuck, fighting for consciousness she could only cling to the creature and fight for breath.

"Don't move." His voice was suddenly there, in her ear and Barb would have shivered if every movement wasn't agony. Her mouth opened and shut but she kept her gaze focused on the coarse hair inches from her face; she was half-dead and in agonizing pain. Wanting him to ravish her right now was just stupid—honestly. Sucking in shallow breaths through her mouth she fought not to gag at the smell and closed her eyes briefly, hoping this was all some stupid dream.

"It missed your spine and major organs, but we'll still need to get x-rays. You'll need stitches," he said, cataloging the situation.

"Are you-" Barb concentrated on her next words, "all right?" Talking was nearly impossible; her vision wasn't so sharp anymore either. She might not be dying, but god damn it hurt.

"Of course. This will hurt." Before she could process anything he pulled her straight back off, holding her up once she was free. She clenched her jaw, but a small scream still pushed out from behind her teeth. "Hurt" didn't quite cover that particular sensation.

Coming back to herself she realized they were already out of the apartment and swinging through the night.

"Put me down," she told him, pushing her throbbing torso from her mind.

He didn't so much as acknowledge she had spoken.

"I mean it Batman," she said seriously.

"You need medical attention," he said.

"I'll go to the hospital."

"And tell them what?"

"I'll stitch it myself," she switched.

"Impossible. Alfred is more than capable. You also need a tetanus booster and antibiotics."

"Then I will get there on my own steam."

He landed, still holding her, and stumbled before standing straight again.

"Put. Me. Down."

They locked eyes, but he kept moving towards the Batmobile.

"You're hurt. I'm hurt. Now is not the time to play the hero," Barb argued with logic. "I can walk. Put me down, and I will go to the cave for medical attention."

Still saying nothing he lowered her feet. No one else would have caught his grunt of pain, but then Barb had never been anyone else.

"What did it do to you?" she asked him suddenly so thankful her pain drove any emotion from her voice.

"Broken ribs. Concussion. Nausea. Probably some internal bleeding," he listed off.

"Awesome," she returned sarcastically. Easing herself into the Batmobile she let out her first deep breath as she felt the familiar rumble beneath her. "Need me to drive?"

He didn't even dignify that with a look.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"I must say Miss Gordon, but it is good to see you again," Alfred told her as he stitched neatly. "Things have been a trifle moody around here without your balancing presence." Barb's response was a squeak as he stitched a particularly sensitive section. Bruce, of course, said nothing; he simply continued scrolling through files on the giant monitor oblivious to their conversation.

"It's nice to see you again too Alfred," Barbara told him and meant it. She had always liked Alfred; they all relied on him for so much, and not for the first time she wondered about this kind, brilliant man that raised Bruce. The last stitch finally finished he applied bandages and told her to wait while he fetched some oral antibiotics. Looking down at herself Barb knew she would have some hellish scars from this one.

The puncture wounds had been the least of her problems it turned out; for as much as it hurt, they'd been clean wounds-no nicked organs or sliced arteries. The claws down her front, though, had been deep and ugly. The acid had made a mess of things before she got it taken care of and she figured she could never wear a bikini again. Not without awkward questions at least.

"I'm alive," she reminded herself. "And I can walk." The rest was just window dressing. When she looked up she got caught in Bruce's eyes; his icy blue gaze bored into her and she stopped moving, the scars and the stitches forgotten.

With every ounce of strength she had Barb slid her t-shirt over her head. When she pulled her head free, Bruce was turned back to the computer once again.

"Master Bruce will need someone to sit up with him to ensure he does not nod off," Alfred said as he returned, a brown pill bottle clutched in his hand.

"I'm perfectly capable of watching myself," Bruce informed them, still focused on the screen.

"I believe that defeats the purpose of being looked _after_. Sir."

Barb couldn't suppress her silent "O" at that. Tim wasn't joking. It wasn't like Alfred to sound so…so snippy.

"I'd be happy to stay up with him Alfred." What? What did she just say? Why would she do that?

"That would be most helpful Ms. Gordon," Alfred responded kindly. "Master Bruce has been rather temperamental as of late and I find it has put me far behind on my chores."

Barb offered what she hoped was an enigmatic smile as Alfred left the cave. She so didn't want to get between the two of them. But she felt the sudden crushing weight of inexplicable guilt crushing her chest. This was not her fault. Bruce was, well, Bruce. This was not her fault. Ignoring the emotion Barb looked back up at Bruce; he hadn't said a word, but it was suddenly incredibly apparent to her how alone they were. Did he even notice, she wondered? Did he feel the sudden emptiness of the cave at Alfred's departure? Was he thinking about what they were doing the last time she sat on this table?

Pushing off the table, holding herself gingerly as the stitches pulled, she wandered out of the medical area and found herself moving slowly through the gallery. Why did Bruce keep all this stuff? She wouldn't have pegged him as sentimental, but even as she thought it she realized what a mistake it was. Of course he was sentimental, but was he only sentimental about failure? Two Face's penny—a giant reminder he couldn't save his friend? The Joker card—a symbol of the chaos he couldn't control? Barb manhandled her thoughts back under control. She was not going to spend any more time psychoanalyzing Bruce. She would go to the library and pick up a book. Yes, the library was safe.

Barb squeezed her eyes shut as remembered how the books sounded, knocked over by her arms and the pressure of the shelves against the small of her back. She had clung to Bruce, terrified she would fall and all the more aroused because of it.

Alright, so the library was out.

She walked slowly towards the edge of the platform; the gaping chasm stared back at her, the only noise a faint rush of water far below. Wincing she pulled her shirt away from the bandages and fought to pull the material away from her skin.

"How are the burns?" His voice was suddenly there, in her ear. Her body reacted on instinct, hard and powerful; her legs unconsciously clenched and she tensed, trying to control the shiver down her spine.

"I—they're fine." Barb pressed her lips together. She could talk to him. She just had to remember how.

"Do they hurt?" He had come around next to her now, his all-seeing eyes focused on the awkward way she was holding the material away from her skin.

"My shirt's just pulling on the bandages," she shrugged. "How's your head?"

"Not nearly as bad as I thought," he replied grabbing the hem of her shirt and lifting it up before she could stop him.

"What—stop!" Barb squeaked, grabbing the material and trying to hold it down.

"Relax," he ordered her. "You'll be more comfortable with something looser."

Barb stubbornly held onto her clothes. "Don't tell me what to do." It came out much more truculent than she wanted.

Bruce simply pulled a knife from somewhere and sliced it up the middle leaving her holding rags.

"You ASSHOLE. I _liked_ that shirt."

"Then don't cling to it like a stubborn child," he said sharply already moving away. Barb glared at his back her feelings no longer torn, but unified in their unequivocal rage at this man.

"Do you want me to hate you?" she called after him as he moved to the closet. "Would that make it easier?"

Silent he pulled a black t-shirt out, shut the door, threw it to her, and went back to his computer. Furious Barb pulled his larger shirt down over her head. It was more comfortable and that made her hate him. It also enveloped her in his scent and she loved it. That made her hate herself.

Hours later Barbara tried stretching her back as Alfred checked Bruce's eyes. She had stayed with him as promised even though they both knew he wasn't going to fall asleep. Hours—she'd been her hours and they hadn't said a word to each other since the shirt incident. She didn't want to be angry at him; she didn't want—god she didn't even know what she did or didn't want.

It hadn't been enough time. Tonight was a painful reminder why they called it off, and the last few hours had made it abundantly clear how right a decision that was, but she was still taking deep breaths—her traitorous lungs trying to pull as much of his scent in as they could. She was starring off into space—at the general space around his computer chair. She twitched every time he moved, however slight. She was a hot mess and she needed to get as far away from him as she could.

He didn't seem affected in the slightest. She surprised herself with how much that infuriated her. Her emotions seemed to be on some sick co-dependent cycle; first she wanted to hit him, then she wanted to fuck him, but after sex she wanted him to explain why he couldn't love her and recognizing how much she wanted that—how much she wanted him to want her—filled her with an overwhelming compulsion to kill him and herself. Rinse and repeat.

There was a tension around his eyes and mouth; his shoulders seemed bunched at times. But she hadn't caught him staring at her, and he hadn't so much as approached her since sitting back down. She was just one more ex. One more girl he screwed and screwed over—forgotten and ignored.

"You're fit to sleep," Alfred's icy tone interrupted her self-loathing.

"I don't need to sleep Alfred," Bruce responded without emotion.

"Of course," Alfred narrowed his eyes, "forgive me for imposing. It's not my place." Without looking at Barb Alfred turned and walked stiffly up the stairs.

"How—" Barb started, but trailed off as Bruce finally looked at her. His eyes were—it was like a punch to her gut. He was _furious_; there was no other word for it.

"If you follow Alfred he'll see you home." The words were passionless, completely devoid of the blistering rage she'd just seen in his gaze. It was the dismissal, the utter disregard of his words that sparks her own temper making her heedless of the tumult she'd just seen in his gaze.

"Just like that huh?" she snarked at him. "There's some new _monster_ roaming the streets a Gotham, a monster that nearly killed both of us, and I'm just going home?"

"You're welcome to stay so long as your quiet." He was ignoring her, walking back to that damn computer.

"Oh you," she bit her lip to quell the curse. She wasn't taking the bait; she wasn't going to be the one to lose her temper first, not this time. "You need help."

"Alfred's been saying that since I was eight."

"Not psychological help," she sighed, "though definitely that too. You need help taking this thing down."

He sat down in the chair and began typing away, scrolling through records, articles, photos and headlines popping up before being minimized and filed away. Barb reigned in her temper, working for calming breaths to slow her heart but each inhale filled her nose with his scent that indefinable aroma of musk and earth, a dark subtle scent that was just..._him_. A scent that went directly to her groin and lit her blood up like fireworks in a tin can. She was stalking up behind him before the haze of lust cleared her brain, sexual frustration and heartbreak combining and mutating in her gut.

"You. Are not. Fighting this thing alone." She bit each word off with her teeth. The "you bastard" at the end but it hung heavy in the air with her rage and his broken stubbornness. She loved him. She knew that now. But she hated him to. Either was she wasn't going to watch him die.

He continued to ignore her, fingers flying over the keys, frigid blue eyes fixed on the screen as if she weren't even there.

Barb walked to a neighboring platform, picked up a chair, carried back and sat down next to Bruce. Two could play.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"There are only three scientists in Gotham with the ability and resources to manufacture a beast like that."

Barb jerked as she came awake with the sudden sound of his voice. She hadn't been sleeping so much as she just wasn't awake, but it still took her eyes a moment to focus on the oversized monitor above them.

"So we split up and check them out?" She kept her gaze on the screen. They'd been sitting here in silence for hours, a silent war momentarily set aside for an unspoken truce.

"First you sleep," he said, catching her off guard. "Then we check them out together. We don't know how many of those things we'll find."

"If I sleep you sleep," she countered astutely ignoring thoughts of working together.

"I'm fine," he rumbled, irritation creeping into his words.

"No way that thing lays you out unless your reflexes are slowed," Barb informs him. "It was fast and it was mean, but it shouldn't have knocked you unconscious—not unless you hadn't slept in days."

He says nothing and she wonders momentarily if they're back to silence.

"Three hours," he concedes. "We meet back here in three hours. You can sleep upstairs."

"Six."

"Three," he says again more forcefully.

"Bruce," she sighs quietly. It's the first time she's used his name since everything went to shit, and it feels like too much, like she's gone too far, but he's falling apart. He's exhausted and injured—and for the first time, when she sees his shoulders bunch slightly at the sound of his name from her lips, she finally begins to believe that maybe what happened between them is hurting him as much as it hurts her.

"Four," he says in barely more than a whisper.

"Six."

He meets her eyes then, really looks at her for the first time in forever and she's shocked at what she sees. There's still rage—there's always rage in him, she doubts it's ever gone—but it's tempered by irritation and...humor? There's a dark gleam and a slight upturn of one lip. It's barely there, so easy to miss, but it's that twinkle, that barely there smile that makes Barbara's heart stutter in her chest and her breath catch in her throat.

"Six," he finally agrees with a slight shake of his head.

Barbara chalks this one up in the win column and stoutly ignores the sudden fluttering in her stomach as she turns and heads upstairs.

When she climbs into the Batmobile exactly six and a half hours later their brief truce appears to have ended. Bruce is suited up, his cowl in place and his mouth is a thin line, emotion locked behind the mask. But as he moves around silently, preparing to launch from the cave, his demeanor seems less threatening somehow; it's an odd thought to have about the Batman. In all of her experience with criminals, super villains, and the JLA Barb has never known anyone who exuded intimidation and sheer terror like the Batman. Even knowing the man behind the mask—knowing him intimately—part of Barb still cringes when he turns the full force of his presence against her. It's what made loving him, and fighting him, so bloody difficult.

But that presence is contained at the moment, directed outward as they fly down the road towards the first lab. For the first time since she let him walk away they're almost comfortable, or at least tolerant, with each other. The feeling is more addictive than she remembered.

The first lab is a bust, but the second one makes her muscles bunch and her eyes narrow. It isn't so much a lab as it is a giant warehouse and there's row after row of clear, huge containment tubes—containment tubes holding row after row of monsters. They're exactly like the one she took down in the apartment building: gigantic, hulking, terrifying, and designed to kill. She and Bruce barely beat one of these bastards, if they were all released at once? Barb couldn't stop the shiver that pushed up from her stomach. Gotham—Gotham couldn't take this. The panic alone they would inspire—people would be out of their minds.

Bruce led the way, moving soundlessly through the lab; Barb followed careful of each step as she passed between two rows of tubes, static monsters bobbing on each side. The synthetic umbilical cord plugged directly into the abdomen, with some type of breathing apparatus attached to the lower face. Bubbles rose gently with each exhale the sounds of growing monster trapped in the silence of each tube. He planted explosives along the tubes as they went; moving in tightening spiral they made their way across the entirety of the warehouse, careful to ensure the destruction of every monster with the push of a button. By the time they've reached the "lab" she's jumping at every rustle of her cape, every squeak in the rafters above. It's too quiet. This was way too easy.

"We need to destroy the research and check for other facilities," he orders her. He's so quiet she feels his words more than hears them, but she nods once in acknowledgment and heads for the computer bank to the right. She made it four steps before a cold voice stopped her.

"The problem with Gotham," a hiss shattered the silence as lights flooded the room, "is all the god damn superheroes. I swear the world used to be a decent place before everyone decided to wallow in spandex."

She threw her hand up as the lights flipped on, trying to see through the sudden glare; she could see Bruce a few feet away, frozen in a crouch.

"How many of my pets do you imagine there are in here?" the voice sneered, moving closer. "20? 30? How many do you think it would take to kill the both of you? I bet not more than 5." She could hear movement in the shadows off to her left on the other side of Batman. She slid one foot back, shifting her weight infinitesimally in preparation.

"You are a stoic bunch aren't you?" the voice asked again snidely. Barb could see a shape moving in the shadows now, separating itself slowly from the deeper darkness behind it. Batman was still crouched, silent and still in front of her, and she kept one eye on him, waiting for some sign, some twitch or signal. "I suppose it doesn't matter if you talk as long as you die."

Barb saw a hand rise from the shadows, the thumb depressing some hidden button gripped in long, slender fingers, as the shape finally coalesced. She was moving, lightning fast, before the woman had stopped talking. Barb didn't know what that button did, but she had an idea—either way she figured it was all bad. Bruce was moving with her, both running for the scientist before her face finished parting the shadows that had hidden it.

Neither of them made it.

She was a tall woman, slender and strangely reptilian, and it was obvious her genetic experiments hadn't remained focused on the monsters surrounding them. Crouching slightly she launched herself straight up into the air, clearing both the Bats before they could lay a finger on her. Barb could see her running lightly across the tops of the containment tubes on all fours and she raised her arm, ready to pursue before a hand on her shoulder stilled her.

"We need to get out of here now," Bruce whispered in her ear. Looking back she saw the white of his exposed skin where his lips were pressed tightly together; he was vibrating slightly with tension. The monsters were waking up.

There were wet pops all around them, like someone just squeezed a balloon through a clogged drain, and groggy growls were echoing out of the darkness. Barb nodded once, following the swish of his cape as they began moving away from the rising snarls. They raised their grapples together and she pushed down, but as Bruce rose into the night, away from the danger and the explosion they were about to trigger, Barb remained on the ground.

Her freaking grapple-gun had misfired. In the space between one heartbeat and the next Barb cursed Bruce and his stupid toys, her life, and Bruce again.

She was moving again immediately, heading for the shipping doors she knew lined the back of the wall—the wall that was on the exact opposite of where she was now—the wall she was separated from reaching by a growing chorus of snuffling grunts and vicious howls.

"Ready or not, here I come."

She ran back into the rows, camouflaged by the shadows and silent as the air split around her. Bruce would have realized by now she wasn't behind him; he probably wasn't going to detonate the charges until he knew she was clear. Probably. She skidded on the floor as two giant bodies crashed through a tube in front of her. The monsters had found each other, and apparently they hated themselves as much as everything else. She slid along another tube, keeping it between her and the wrestling bodies as the nightmarish sounds of fangs ripping through flesh and howls of pain echoed around her.

She was almost there; she could see the lighter shade of metal against concrete in the dark. She'd have to blow a hole in the door to escape; she also needed to blow the rest of the charges before any more of these things woke up. But then there was no more time for thinking. They'd found her.

The roar gave her warning and she ducked, rolling to her right as she felt claws tear through the air above her. It was chasing her, dogging her heels and impossibly fast for its size. Grabbing the top of another tube she pulled herself up, swinging up and clear as it charged below. The monster roared again in rage and she felt more than saw the shifting direction as everything else changed course and headed her way. Pulling another charge from her belt she primed it and winged it at the door behind her, hoping her aim was good. Not stopping to think she set it off, squatting on top of the tube and using her cape to shield herself from the debris. Movement below her feet made her blink the spots away from her eyes and she saw the tube below her discharging its liquid, the gelatinous stuff pouring out from the bottom into drains on the floor.

She needed to go, but she was well and truly surrounded now, the explosion at the door doing little to distract the teeming mass circling her tube. Flipping a switch on her detonator Barb hoped for the best and leapt as she pushed.

The charges went off at once, roars drowned out by explosions and debris. Barb felt the heat scorch her as the shock wave threw her out of the warehouse, battering her in the air so she slammed into the ground hard, off balance and out of control. Pushing up to her hands and knees she tried to clear her head but everything hurt. She couldn't hear over the roaring in her ears and her vision was spotty and screwed again from the sudden burst of flame. No monsters were trying to kill her, though, so that was something.

She'd just begun cataloging the aches and pains in her body when she was grabbed roughly and hauled up against a granite chest. Blinking rapidly she knew it was Bruce, even though she still couldn't see his face clearly; she knew it was him as soon as his hands closed around her upper arms, knew it was him as soon as she felt his chest beneath her fingertips through her gloves and his costume. She knew it was him as soon as she felt his lips crushed against hers.

It was an intensely unBatman-like thing to do but she couldn't care, not when he was kissing her like everything he needed to survive was in her—kissing her like every ounce of his being _needed_ her. Not kissing him back never crossed her mind. All of her reasons, all of her very, very good reasons, for walking away from him, for staying as far away from him as she could evaporated in the haze of lust that ran like jet fuel through her veins; she was pretty sure she was moaning against his lips, her hands scrabbling frantically against his costume. She wanted him inside her; she needed to her body wrapped around his. She was jumping then, her arms and legs curling around him desperate and urgent, monsters, mad scientists, and still burning explosions forgotten.

Bruce pulled away from her mouth and she whimpered, but he didn't put her down, didn't make her relinquish her death grip on his body. Instead he buried his face in her neck, his breath sawing out of him in pained gasps as his muscles trembled beneath her.

"Oh my god you're hurt!" she gasped, trying to let go, to push off of him as suddenly as she jumped him. His arms stayed locked around her, though, his hands digging into her thighs slightly, pressing her more firmly against him.

"No," he ground out like speaking was beyond him. "Not...here."

"I can't," she fought, trying to wrest herself back under control, "I don't want..." her voice trailed off before she finished as another squeeze of her fingers made her forget how to talk. If he was injured she didn't want to hurt him, but she couldn't stop; her need to protect him was at war with her need to make him scream her name, but he went stiff at her words, his face pulling back from her neck and then her feet were on the ground and he was setting her apart from him, putting distance between them.

Barb was unsteady on her feet, confusion and arousal combining in her battered body and she could only stare at him, hurt coloring her eyes behind the mask. He—he didn't want her? She doubled over for a second, fighting for breath as he stayed plastered against the alley wall, pushing himself as far away from her as he could.

"Let's head back to the car," he finally growled and set off into the shadows cold and implacable like they hadn't been clinging to each other seconds before. It was too much, too similar to before except this time she'd sacrificed her pride along with her intentions. Her heart gave another thud in her chest before stuttering out, everything going numb. She was shutting down, her emotions numbing out as her brain couldn't process.

It was a long walk back to the car; with her gun broken they couldn't fly through the city using rooftops to hide them from prying eyes and neither suggested he carry her. Moving slowly, sticking to shadows, she followed his lead ignoring the trembling in her hands and the way her knees kept giving out. He was stiff in front of her, his movements jerky and sharp, and when he lowered himself into the Batmobile it was without a word, refusing to meet her eyes. Barb climbed in on the other side, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to make sense of what just happened.

"I'm...sorry." She jerked upright at his words, her head spinning on her neck as her gaze sought his. He was sitting completely immobile, his hands gripping the wheel tightly making no move to fire up the engines.

"What?" she whispered harshly, sure she'd misheard him.

"I'm sorry," he pushed out again, faster and more angry this time. "I shouldn't have—I should have respected your wishes."

Her poor brain. Her poor, beleaguered, confused brain. Of course he wasn't apologizing for breaking her heart. He was apologizing for—hell, she had no idea what he was apologizing for.

"What are you talking about?" she finally sighed. God she was so tired of this. So tired of things always being on his terms; they had sex when he wanted to have sex. They talked when he wanted to talk. Control issues didn't begin to describe trying to love him.

"I—" he stopped, looking at her then with confusion turning his mouth down more, "I shouldn't have kissed you back there. I know you said—we're done. You made that clear, made it clear you didn't want me to touch you again and I...I thought you were dead." His last words came out as a whisper, almost like he would give anything to stop himself from talking but couldn't.

"I'm not," Barb started, unsure what she wanted to say. "I'm not angry at you. For that. Back there."

Sometimes she wondered how she could make Mensa members look like idiots and still be reduced to a babbling teenager whenever she was in Bruce's presence. Her dad would be so disappointed in her.

"But you—" he trailed off. The great Batman at a loss for words. Barb would have reveled in this moment if she weren't so focused on not losing her shit, not cracking wide open and begging him to let her have him, however she could. However little she could. "You said you didn't want me. You said you wanted to stop."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He couldn't be that stupid could he?

"I said we needed to find—privacy—and you said you didn't want to." He could. He really, really could.

"I thought you were _hurt_." She said it slowly, enunciating each word like she was explaining quantum physics to a six year old. "I didn't want to hurt you. I definitely didn't want to not stop."

"You thought I was hurt?"

"World's greatest detective my ass," she grumbled, and then she was out of her seat, squeezed on his lap between his seeking mouth and the steering wheel.

His mouth was rough against her own the roller-coaster of their emotions magnifying everything. His hands everywhere, pushing her uniform up, exposing skin as his mouth, tongue, and teeth assaulted her; he let go of her side and she whined against his mouth but then they were back, exposed now, his questing fingers free of his gloves so that his skin could brush across hers, dig into hers. She followed his lead, ripping her own gloves off and reaching down, pulling the material of his top free, her fingernails scrapping across his stomach, bruising as she grabbed his sides and whimpering when his hand finally found its way to her nipple.

He stretched her top up, exposing one breast awkwardly but she didn't care, couldn't care because suddenly his mouth was there, nipping and sucking and she couldn't think, couldn't focus past anything but the heartbeat between her legs, her clenching muscles as she writhed against him, trapped and needy.

"Off." For a second she thought he meant she needed to get off him, needed to go back to her own seat and she bit his neck, pulling the material down and out of the way, finding an exposed tendon below his cowl. His body shuddered beneath her and his hips jerked upward, seeking solace through their layers of clothing.

He dug his fingers into her pants, the snap on her utility belt sounding like a cannon to her ears. Pulling the belt free he threw it somewhere over his head, unsnapping her pants and tugging the material down. "Off," he growled again, desperation making him pant around the word.

Understanding now she went up on her knees, her head bent forward awkwardly as her back pressed into the wheel behind her, trying to lean back and over so he could pull the material down past her knees. Why the hell was her uniform so tight? It took a lot of tugging, a few smacks of her head against the roof of the Batmobile, and the occasional giggle that turned into moans as he kept kissing her, forgetting about her pants every time their mouths found each other, but they managed to pull her pants down past her knees. The angle was weird and she pretzeled herself to fit. Thank god for her training. Her feet were trapped now, her knees on either side of his legs and her ankles bound together at his calves under the dash, but she was free. She was exposed.

His chest hummed with need under her hands and he dug his fingers in roughly, probing and seeking for that one spot that made her breath explode in a muted sound between her clenched teeth.

"Bruce," she gasped. "Bruce please." His fingers were _there_, right there like he knew exactly where to go, exactly how to touch her. Her knees clenched against his thighs and she fought not to scream bloody murder. Maybe he was the world's greatest detective after all.

His mouth was back on hers and she sucked on his tongue, reveling in the way it made his hand convulse against her, his hips, still fully clothed, rubbed and jerked between her knees. She wanted more. She needed more. Letting go of his back she dropped her hands to his lap, her fingertips brushing over the stretched material, stopping to stroke him in tandem with the rhythm her mouth set up against his and she felt her lips curve in a wicked smile when his own pleasure made him choke on a groan.

Pulling his own belt roughly out of the way she tossed it, unknowing and uncaring of where it landed. His pants were as tight as her own, but uncontrollable lust rendered her capable of solving any problem. He grimaced slightly as she freed him, maybe she was too rough, but then he was there, hot and pulsing in her hand and she stroked up and down to make it all better. He threw his head back, his teeth clenching and his fingers left her, moving to grab her wrist and pull her hand away from him.

"_Now_ ," he pushed out, fighting for control. She nipped at his lower lip, wanting to make some witty remark, to push his control just a little further, but the only noise that escaped was a whimper as he lifted her lining himself up against her, and shoved down impaling her hard and fast in one sharp thrust.

She screamed, her body convulsing around him the feeling too much, too full. It was just a little too hard, a little too rough, but the pain wasn't pain—at least, it wasn't bad pain. It was pain that made her toes curl in her boots and her knees scissor on his hips as every muscle in her body tightened, winding her up like a top. She didn't know—no one told her—it wasn't like they hadn't been rough with each other before but this was..different.

He began moving them, urging her to rock her hips against him and every stroke, every thrust made her see stars; she was coming apart around him, her body locked in the throes of something that just shut her down. That sensation of being filled, of being stretched had morphed and grown and was coming undone as wave after wave of fireworks exploded inside her pushing another scream from her lips. He was slamming upward now, all control lost and it felt like he was touching all of her at once. She was too tender, her nerves jacked under her skin but she couldn't pull away, couldn't stop the blissed out joy hammering her.

She screamed as she broke apart but It didn't stop—the pleasure pulsing through her as her hips jerked, caught in his grip and her vision fuzzed as all the blood rushed upwards into her head. She couldn't even hear Bruce's roar when he held her down, buried inside her and stilled.

Her head fell onto his shoulder, breath coming in gasps as they clung to each other, awareness starting to settle back in. It wasn't until she could feel her body again, utterly relaxed and stretched taut simultaneously, that she realized they both still had their masks on.

It was too long and not long enough before they moved apart. Slowly, the awkwardness magnified now they weren't both high on overwhelming need, she disentangled herself, falling back into her seat, her trapped feet making her movements clumsy and slow. They didn't say anything as she pulled her pants up, rearranging her clothes as he tucked himself back in, reaching behind him, seeking for their belts. They needed to talk. She knew they needed to talk but what the hell was there to say? They weren't back together. They _couldn't _be back together. Dear universe she wanted to be back together but—he was still Bruce. He was still cold, calculating, controlling—the list went on and on and on. Loving him wasn't enough, being loved by him wasn't enough. It wasn't that she needed attention or time but she needed...she needed. She needed and he couldn't give, wouldn't let himself give something, anything.

He avoided her gaze even as she avoided his, and she turned her head to focus on the broken scenery of Gotham as he flew down the streets. The curse pushed itself out with her sigh, so soft she wasn't even aware she'd spoken aloud.

"Fuck."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Barb wore his shirt home that night and slept in it. Bruce pretended not to notice when she put it on and she pretended she wasn't doing it because she was so desperate for a piece of him she was stealing his clothes. She was steadily being reduced to a Michael Bay character—all crazy and sex with no real point outside him. The irony was not lost on her. He didn't call but she didn't expect him too; they astutely avoided each other for the better part of a week, and when she did finally open her door to find him standing against her kitchen counters in the dark, dressed like Bruce Wayne instead of the Batman, her pulse picked up and it wasn't from surprise.

She did wonder briefly if having congress with a man who broke into her apartment and waited for her in the dark wasn't her brightest idea.

He didn't help her as she stumbled through the door, take-out in one hand and her groceries in the other, but she supposed that was because he looked too petrified to move—it was an uncomfortable expression to see on his face. It was an expression that reminded her of the last time they were in her apartment together and that was not something she wanted to remember. Barb had never wanted the dubious distinction of being the girl that broke the Batman's heart. The door swung shut behind her and they just stood there in the silence, awkward and unsure around each other.

"Hi," she finally said quietly.

"Hello." She waited another minute, but he didn't say anything else; he didn't so much as twitch, just stood there completely still against her cabinets.

"Why are you here?" she asked softly, her eyes darting to the side as she checked her bedroom through the open door. His stupid shirt was right there on her bed, but if he hadn't been anywhere but the kitchen—

"You still have my shirt." Sonofabitch.

"I—I'm sorry," she stammered. "But I didn't have a shirt to wear home. I was going to wash it for you and..." She trailed off into the silence. It wasn't an excuse and she only felt like more of an idiot trying to make one up.

"Do you still love me?"

His question punched her in the gut and she felt her muscles tense, making her stiffen up. That...was unexpected.

"Why do you ask?" she finally responded, pushing her glasses up her nose and preparing for the worst.

"Please answer the question." It was the "please" that got her—stupid ass. He never said please; she was reasonably sure that she had never heard him use the word sincerely in all the time she'd known him. Dropping the sarcasm her shoulders slumped again; he finally wanted an honest conversation, so be it.

"Yes." She said it simply, looking him in the eye. She didn't stammer or stutter or scream or cry. She just told him the truth, allowed him to see the truth in her own expression. Of course she still loved him; she suspected she always had. She was terrified she always would.

He finally moved then, uncrossed his arms and white-knuckled the counter-top behind him but he didn't say anything. His breathing stayed regular even as he dropped his gaze from hers, his eyelids shuttering his response to her words keeping her from understanding what it was he wanted.

"Why do you ask?" she tried again. "Bruce if you're worried I'll compromise you I hope you know I would never—"

"I love you too."

His words were spoken so softly she wasn't sure she heard him correctly. He was still looking down at the floor, his face lost to shadow. His shoulders weren't hunched but—but there was something broken about him. Something indefinable, like the push and pull of life had finally worn him down, like he was still standing out of habit more than anything and if he thought about it too long he'd crumble under the weight. She set the bags in her hands on the floor at her feet and took one step forward before stopping, unsure of herself.

"What are you saying?" she whispered her hands going to the hem of her shirt and stretching the material as she clenched around it.

He looked up again, a sardonic smile raising one side of his mouth. "I thought it was pretty obvious."

Was he—could he be? Her thoughts were running all over each other as she tried to process what he was saying. He couldn't be but he was. He was...he was...he was standing up from the counter, his expression stony and touching his ear. Barb pulled up short as she saw the telltale signs of work morphing his features.

"Thank you Alfred," he said dropping his hand back to his side and when he met her gaze again there was something close to apology in his eyes. "There's been another monster sighting."

There was no disappointment or upset at his words, not really; she didn't know what all she was feeling, but it wasn't upset, not really. She certainly didn't know what to do with his declaration of love, but she thought that maybe, in this specific moment, amidst the churning confusion in her rib cage there was something kind of like happiness. It felt good to feel good again.

She didn't stop the small grin as she matched his gaze. "Then let's go to work."

The monster wasn't at a bank or a chemical plant or even some snazzy office building. It was a convenience store on the corner of Park and 23rd.

"What the hell?" Barb asked as she watched the rampage through her binoculars; it looked like everyone was out. Cops lined the street, guns trained on the windows over their cars but no one approached the store. The creature was as terrifying as the others and Barb winced as it winged a shelf of candy bars out the window destroying the windshield on the closest cop car. Her dad wouldn't be thrilled about that.

"We need to contain it," Bruce said, assessing the situation next to her. "And I need samples. We need to figure out what this thing is made of, where she's getting her materials, if she has other labs in the city."

"Batman," Barb hissed, interrupting his instructions. "Look." Everyone had not gotten out of the store; there was a kid, five or six by the looks of her foot, cowering behind the counter. She was pretty well hidden, but she'd jerked when the shelf flew through the window and Barb could see an anklet sock and a patten leather shoe sticking out from under the cash register.

Bruce cursed next to her, his own binoculars focusing on the tiny foot, shaking with fear. It was only a matter of time until the monster found her or crushed her in its tirade.

"We need to move," Barb hissed, firing her grapple-gun and swinging off the roof.

"Batgirl!" he hollared after her, but she couldn't stop. This wasn't the time for strategy and talk. There was a child in there. And the monster had just seen her.

As Barb swung it stopped abruptly, its head cocking to one side and she could see it listening; she hit the ground rolling, barreling through the door as it sniffed the air, coming up between it and the counter before it could charge.

It was a fine plan as far as plans go. She had it distracted and the girl was safe so long as it stayed that way. She and Bruce could take it; they were both uninjured and prepared this time. It was a fine plan. Except there was another beat hulking silent and still in the corner, invisible from their position on the roof.

She sighed. Of mice and men and all that shit. Screw it. It's not like not saving the kid was an option.

She dropped into a fighting crouch, her weight balanced evenly on her toes as Bruce barreled through the door behind her rolling into his own fighting stance seamlessly. They didn't look at each other, each keeping their eyes on the two beasts in front of them; they didn't speak either. They didn't need to. He pulled a batarang and threw it in one smooth motion, ensuring both beasts focused on him as he charged the one closest. She spun as soon as his arm moved, sliding around the corner keeping the fight in sight as she approached the girl carefully in a crouch. She was a slip of a thing, shaking with terror and tear stained and Barb made soothing noises as she scooped the child up, jumping directly over the counter and running out the door—just as Bruce flew into the wall where she had just been. Hard.

Handing the girl quickly to the cops she turned and ran back in, grapple-gun out and ready. She had a new plan. Maybe.

Bruce was on his feet again, but he had slowed down considerably and before she could get to him he got swatted across the face, falling in a dead heap to the floor. Not good—so, so, so not good. She could carry him, but not quickly; not with monsters that could probably land a punch on the Flash if he wasn't careful. She flipped a one-handed cart0hweel, knocking the closest beast back with a boot to the head and dropped immediately into a protective crouch over Bruce's prone body. Taking aim with the grapple-gun she held her breath—and fired.

The spike imbedded itself in the soft flesh of the stomach of the beast farthest away and she was up and moving before it started howling. The tensile strength of the cord should hold them—assuming she could secure the other side before they yanked her back like a yo-yo and tore her head from her shoulders. No plan was perfect.

She pulled from every year of gymnastics, every training session with Bruce, every moment on Gotham's streets; pushing her body to move faster, dodging swings that would rip her in two, and somersaulting over the cord each time she met it, Barb circled and circled diving around and in between the monsters pulling them closer and closer together with herself as bait and slowly, inexorably tightening the cord as they collapsed each centimeter of space. It was working, her plan was working—Bruce was still on the ground but he was stirring and she almost had it, they were almost...

The claw came out of nowhere. The claws themselves didn't touch her saving her from the acid, but the meat of its paw connected directly with her head. Even with the reinforced protection of her cowl her head snapped to the side on her neck and she felt herself flying through the air, motor control impossible, before she slammed into the one remaining shelf and fell to the ground. Her vision fuzzed and she knew she was going to lose consciousness; she was going to black out and those things were going to tear her and Bruce apart.

And he had finally admitted to loving her.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Warning. That fluffy shit sneaks up on you. See end for more notes.  
**

**Chapter 5**

Barb's first thought when she woke up was...that she woke up.

She wasn't dead and wasn't that a surprise. What was more, Bruce was tied up next to her; she could feel his body pressed back to back with her own. His breathing was slow and even which meant he wasn't awake yet. That was as far as she got before her broken body caught up with her groggy brain; she lay there unmoving for a long, long while holding herself still and waiting for the first waves of agony to pass into something more dealable.

Her everything hurt.

"Do you still keep a knife in your boot?" Bruce asked. She jerked slightly at the sound of his voice, his breathing hadn't changed, he hadn't so much as twitched, but he'd clearly been waiting for her to wake up.

"If they didn't take it," she whispered trying to pull her leg up to where she could reach it.

"Lean forward and put your leg over my hip." This was not an appropriate moment to want to giggle. This was not-

Barb barely stifled the giggle behind her teeth and she felt more than heard Bruce's very put upon sigh.

"This is exactly why we shouldn't date," he grumbled, barely audible.

"Wait, what?" Barb perked up. "Shouldn't date? Does that mean we're dating?"

"Focus _Batgirl_." His long fingers were dipping into the top of her boot now and she couldn't stop the shiver that ran up her leg.

"Oh I'm focused," she pushed. "I'm focused on the part where we're dating."

"I didn't—"

"You did! No takebacks!"

Bruce said a word that would make Alfred blush as he started sawing at her bonds. Barb didn't even bother to fight the smile until she was free, flipped around, and returning the favor.

"Now is not the time," Bruce growled.

"Oh I agree," she whispered back, "but when we're done here? When we're done here it is so on."

Standing up she tried to put her game-face on, slipping into the role of Batgirl and zeroing her senses down, listening for movement, voices, anything that could give them much needed information, but something wasn't right. She could feel her emotions bubbling inside her, barely controlled. Bruce moved silently in front of her, his massive body reduced to a crouch as he moved quickly down the tunnel. If Barb had to guess, she would say they were in some sort of storm drain. They had to be underground—the damp, moldy smell was practically weighted with the tons of concrete she could feel above their heads and the concrete tunnel—flood tunnel maybe?—was lit at regular intervals with emergency lights. The concrete was damp around her, but there was no running water. There were no animals either—no rats, no roaches no nothing. The silence was unnerving.

Picking a direction they moved quickly and Barb found herself hoping Bruce knew where he was going. It didn't matter, though, they'd gone maybe half a mile when a roar shook the walls around them. She said nothing but they both froze; the roar had come from behind them, but it was answered from somewhere up ahead. It seemed safe to assume their absence had been noticed. And now they were trapped.

As stupid as it might be Barb was suddenly furious at that stupid scientist. _Bruce had admitted to loving her and wanting to date her_. Seriously. She had bigger shit to deal with right now then another power-hungry psychopath who was so freaking proud of her genetic experiments. Well la-de-freaking-da. If they died in these tunnels before she ever had the chance to honest-to-god date Bruce Wayne she was going to find Superman, make him tell her how to come back to life, come back to life and then kick that bitch's ass. Honestly.

They moved back to back, guarding each other as they continued to creep down the tunnel, Barb's brain still going a mile a minute. Did Superman's mind ever wander while he was in life threatening situations? What about Wonder Woman's? She bet Diana was never so undisciplined as to think about boys while being stalked by terrifying eight foot beasts. But her brain just wouldn't focus, wouldn't calm down.

When it finally happened it happened so fast it even caught Bruce off-guard. One second they were alone hidden in the shadows, the next they were spotlighted by a crazy lizard lady with a mag-light sandwiched between her monsters of stinky doom. They both dropped their weight, going up on the balls of their feet on instinct and she could practically feel the tension in his muscles behind her. But the monsters didn't so much as snarl. Instead they stood still, almost like they were hypnotized, as lizard lady took her time letting the beam of light roam over their bodies.

"You _are_ annoying," she finally broke the silence. "What if I promise to leave and never come back?"

Bruce didn't even hesitate with his answer. "Then I'll track you down wherever you go."

"You have issues," she snipped. Barb could practically hear the smile in her voice; jealousy was not a logical reaction. Bruce was a beautiful man—even under layers of Kevlar and a mask. And so what if every woman from Catwoman to Poison Ivy wanted a taste? It was her he was dating. It was her he missed. And the one thing she could trust about Bruce was that he didn't open up easily. It wasn't like she had any reason to doubt that he cared at this point.

Barb shook her head trying to recenter herself. What the hell was wrong with her?

"Oh I see your partner's having some trouble focusing," lizard lips laughed. "I might have given her a...boost."

"What did you do to her?" Bruce's voice was soft, but only an idiot wouldn't be terrified right now.

"I gave her a shot." An idiot. Definitely an idiot. God it wasn't even like jealousy at this point, but this physical sensation in her chest; she was having a hard time breathing around it. She wanted to cry. Shit—_she wanted to cry. _

"I can't—" Barb tried to push out, but stopped, chocked by the lump in her throat. If she kept talking she was going to break down right here. Terror was vying for attention now too; it was like every emotion, every stray thought, every worry from childhood through now was magnified and _there_. It was her—they were all her thoughts. They were all her emotions. It wasn't someone manipulating her; it wasn't someone trying to get under her skin. She could fight it, ignore it, push through it if these...feelings...were coming from the outside. She could just shut her brain down. But this wasn't someone else. This was her brain. Her entire fucking body was betraying her.

"And...now she's really feeling it. I am impressed at the speed of your metabolism."

Bruce still hadn't turned around, hadn't taken his eyes of the threats in front of them, but Barb could feel him shifting his weight back, pushing slightly up against her from behind as if trying to reassure her with his body. It didn't help, though; all the things she wanted with him, all of those fucking _feelings_ he made her feel just made it worse. She was bouncing between elation he loved her and treacherous despair that it was never going to last. They were never going to last. He was going to break her heart and she was never going to get over it. He was going to break her.

What almost no one else in the world knew—what crazy lizard lady could never have known—was that Barbara Gordon didn't stand for a lot of big feelings. Oh she had them; if she didn't whatever was running through her system wouldn't be affecting her so much right now, but a childhood on her own, a mother who had left her, a city that tried to kill her, a shattered spine, and fighting insanity to recover had beat the panic out of her long ago. But she wasn't impervious; her pulse was jacked up and she could feel the tears start to boil over. What lizard lady also couldn't know, though, was that there was only so much she could feel before a switch flipped. Then she just got angry.

It was a relief actually—as everything coalesced into rage she felt like she could _see_ the red haze as it filtered her vision. She could feel her heart pounding in her head, right next to her ears, and then she just didn't give a shit. Not about anything. She was going to kill this monster. And then she was going to kill the other one. And then she was going to find crazy lizard lady and they were going to have a serious fucking heart-to-heart. She was moving before Bruce knew what was coming and she didn't even bother to look back.

As she ran straight at the monstrosity looming in front of her she heard a shout from behind—whether it was Bruce, lizard lips, or the other monster she didn't know. She caught the beast off-guard, and it definitely didn't expect a frontal attack. Pushing off her left foot Barb ran right up the wall next to it as it took a slow swipe in front, pulled the knife out of her boot Bruce had used to cut them free and came down right on top of its head and hung for a minute, her fingers wrapped around the weapon buried hilt deep in the top of its head. She didn't let go even as it fell forward, dead—she rode its corpse to the ground, pulled the knife out, wiped it off and stood up. No one had moved. Lizard Lips had a gun trained on Bruce, not at the Kevlar like most criminals but straight at his face. The last monster stood vibrating behind her, her outstretched arm the only thing holding it back. The rage—amplified by who knew what—was still pumping octane through her veins and she let her lips curl as she dropped her weight again, ready to attack.

"Bring it."

Barb was moving again, running and jumping while her words still echoed around them, and then all hell broke loose.

Bruce dropped and rolled as the gun went off once, twice, three times—Barb could smell the gunpowder as her ears rang from the explosions—and the monster charged towards her with a roar. Bruce reappeared, sweeping the creature's legs and striking out with a series of punches and chops. Barb ran right over them, her eyes locked on the real monster, the one who had started it all.

Lizardy's eyes went wide and she emptied the clip, but her shots were wild as she backpedaled frantically trying to escape. Barb never stopped moving. Lizardy was quick, but whatever she'd pumped into Barb's veins had jacked up her adrenaline alongside her emotions and she could feel her feet flying underneath her. Her belt had disappeared, but all she needed was her knife. Flipping the blade in her hand as she ran Barb flicked it planting the knife right in the thigh of Lizardy, just above her knee. The scientist fell with a scream, her leg giving out but she kept moving, kept trying to pull herself forward with her hands and good foot. Barb was having none of it.

With one hand Barb palmed her ankle and yanked her backwards, her other hand fisted and cocked. As soon as Lizardy's face was in range Barb planted her fist directly into her jaw. There was a crunch of bone and Lizardy howled in pain, but Barb wasn't in the business of caring just then.

"You move and I'm going to break your jaw."

"Batgirl."

"We need something to restrain her with."

Bruce walked up behind her without anothrt word, plastic cuffs from god only knew where in his hands. He cuffed Lizardy behind her back efficiently and hauled her to her feet with one giant hand wrapped around her upper arm.

"There's a ladder to the surface behind you," Bruce said with no emotion. "I'll make sure she gets to Arkham. You're done for tonight."

Barb wanted to argue with him; she wanted to just yell at him until her voice was raw, but the fight had burned the worst of the rage out and she knew she wasn't rational. She could feel the drug in her system, feel her lack of control, but she had just enough to get home. She had to get home. She went up the ladder first, silent and focused; Lizardy came up next with Bruce last. They said nothing as they broke apart—he to Arkham and her to get herself back under control. She didn't know—couldn't tell if he knew how close she'd been to the ragged edge. It was too much, too close to the Lazarus Pit and she wasn't ready for that. As the rage tapered off again she could feel everything else starting back up in its wake. This was like the worst trip ever.

By the time she swung through her window and peeled her mask off there were real tears sliding down her cheeks. She swiped at them angrily, pissed she was crying, pissed she couldn't stop, and unable to ignore what she was feeling. She traded her costume for a shower but even that didn't calm her down. By the time she got out and dressed she wasn't fighting the need to sob, but everything was still so amplified—it was just so very much.

"Are you ok?" He surprised her and she spun around with a quiet yelp.

"Why are you in my bedroom?"

He was quiet for a long moment, his own mask pushed back and his eyes roaming over her face. "Should I not be?"

It was the sincerity with which he asked that grounded her, gave her something solid to grab onto as her insides went their merry way without her.

"I'm not," she paused, that damn urge to cry creeping up again, "_I can't stop. _Fucking hell, what did she give me?"

"I don't know," he said still standing away from her; he was treating her like a spooked animal.

"I don't want you to leave," she pushed out. "I mean—it would be awesome if I weren't actually a terrifyingly crazy mess right now, but I don't want you to leave. I just—I just have a lot of really big feelings right now."

He didn't say anything, but he didn't leave either. If Barb could trust anything she felt she might have said he was scared.

"I'm sorry," she said trying to get herself reigned in. "I'm sorry. This isn't real, not really. We just—I just have to wait for it to pass." She walked towards him, hoping to reassure him, but he pulled back from her slightly, that strange expression around his eyes pulling tighter.

"What?" she asked. "I swear it's not you!"

"You're crying." He said it with such sincere horror, like she'd suddenly revealed herself to be a mass murderer of puppies, that it shocked a full on guffaw out of her.

"Bruce it's fine! They aren't real tears. Or they are, but it's not like you did anything. I mean, you did a lot—right? You really did a lot but we're over that now right? I mean we're good? We're gonna like, do this thing and you're not going to freak out on me or ignore me or go sleep with fucking Catwoman or something are you? Because that's not gonna work for me. I love you alright? I know you know that but I do. I really, really love you and I'm so fucking terrified you're just going to leave me. You're just going to walk away and then I'll have to see you on magazine covers with these stupid beautiful bombshells on your arms and I'll know it's an act but it won't matter and..." she trailed off when her brain finally caught up to her mouth but it was too late. Oh Christ what had she just done?

She pinwheeled back, trying to run, trying to put space between them, but her body didn't seem to be working right and all she did was flail her arms about before he grabbed her, holding her close.

"I'm sososo sorry I didn't mean to say that and I'm not trying to be clingy or desperate but Jesus there must have been E in whatever she gave me because I cannot stop talking!" She wanted to run. She was mortified but he was there, holding her still, not letting her go and any minute now he was going to freak out because this is the mother fucking Batman and you did not just tell the Batman you loved him and couldn't live without him. You didn't just drop that on him EVER because he made Hugh Hefner look like a model of monogamous commitment and stability.

"Please say something," she whispered after another eternity of silence. "Please say you're okay."

"You really love me like that?"

"You've known I've loved you forever!" Not helping Barb. Not helping. Pull it back. Make it sound less serious. Get it together.

"Not like that," he said. His voice was a whisper, like he couldn't believe what he was saying. "I thought...I thought you hated me for it."

"Why would I hate you because I loved you?!" she squawked. "That makes no sense. Even for you."

"You said you wished you didn't love me. You said we wouldn't work together."

"Well..._yeah_ but only because you're such an intolerable ass most of the time!" His lips quirked at that. She could have sworn to god he was almost smiling.

"So if I—if I could manage not to be an intolerable ass you'd want to really try?"

"Alright I'm high as a kite right now but did we or did we not _just_ have this conversation?"

He was smiling. _He was smiling_.

"Ohmygod are you SMILING?!"

"You really love me."

"Of course I really love you! And I think this proves I'm smarter than you."

He didn't dignify that with a response. Instead he kissed her, tenderly and carefully like she was this beautiful fragile thing he couldn't bear to break.

It was...sweet. Now that the worst of the drug had passed it wasn't so bad. She was kind of enjoying it.

They didn't have sex that night, though she tried; she let her hands roam as they kissed, but he pulled away, telling her no until the drug wore off. Even though she felt the issue of consent was a non-issue at that point he refused to do more pulling her hands away from his waist when she got pushy. Pushing her down to the bed he stripped down, adding his costume to her own in her hidden closet and crawled into bed next her in nothing but an old pair of men's gym shorts he'd found somewhere. Pulling her close she feel asleep with her check on his bare chest and she didn't dream at all.

When she woke up it was morning and she was sprawled on her stomach, an arm thrown across his chest and a sexy pile of drool wetting the pillow beneath her face. She wondered briefly what day it was, if she had work, if she had overslept, but then he made this delicious noise that went straight to her groin and pulled her back close to his chest his eyes still closed.

"Are you awake?" she asked softly kissing the tip of his nose gently.

"mmmm," he rumbled.

"Because the drug has worn off..." she whispered as her hands went exploring.

He went limp under her touch even as his muscles jumped beneath her fingertips. She pushed him down flat onto his back and started kissing him—his mouth, his jaw, his neck. She paused for awhile at his nipples, taking time to show them their due and smiled up at him when he started stretching and shifting beneath her. She took her time, tasting every inch of his skin, nipping and licking at the ridges of muscle, careful not to go to fast languishing in the comfortable ease she felt touching him. This was new this...tenderness. She liked it.

When she reached the shorts she pushed them down slowly, carefully—it was almost like she was relearning his body in a way she never had and she felt...she just felt as she slid the shorts down his thighs and off his legs. She was safe with him. Yeah he stalked her and had the emotional capacity of a hippopotamus but he respected her and trusted her too. He loved her.

She spent a lot of time teasing him, running her fingers over his skin and her tongue over every exposed ridge, vein, and dip she could taste. When she finally swallowed him his hips shot up on instinct and she smiled around him loving every groan, every desperate choked sound he made underneath her. He didn't taste like candy—it wasn't like she was ever going to mistake this taste for chocolate—but he tasted like _him, _a completely unique, spicy taste she could smell as much as lick and that she did like. Nudging his legs apart she kept one hand wrapped around his base but slipped the other one down, palming him and rubbing her fingers along every sensitive piece of skin she could reach. When she carefully trailed one nail from back to front he shook underneath her, his legs trembling on either side and she knew he was close. He reached down then, grabbing her shoulders and lifting her up and off him, rolling them over and trapping her beneath him as he fought for control.

"No," he growled after taking his time to taste her from the inside out. "I want to hear your voice break on my name. This time I'm going to watch you come apart around me."

As far as dirty talk went it was pretty tame, but Barb was pretty sure she'd just flooded her now very unnecessary pants.

She ripped her sleeping tank off as he pulled her shorts down roughly. If her clothes were ripped, if she had bruises on her thighs from where his hands were digging in for purchase, if she had the biggest hickey of her life because he seemed intent on sucking her cunt out through her neck well—those were all prices she was more than happy to pay.

"Please Bruce," she pleaded when he pulled his hips back, keeping himself from lining up exactly where she wanted him. "Please."

When he finally released her neck he gave her the sort of smile that made her forget about everything except him being inside her. Now.

But he didn't line up where she wanted him. He pulled his body away, slowly sliding down her neck tracing the same path she had earlier, his hands digging into her sides as he mouthed her, dipping down across her hips and brushing just where she needed him before moving on. She gasped at the ceiling, her own hands curled like claws around his shoulders alternately pushing and pulling as he touched her everywhere but where they both knew she wanted.

She wanted to curse him, his name, his stubbornness, his stupid beautiful face. His stupid magic fingers. His stupid _tongue_. But words weren't an option any more. As he finally settled himself between her thighs her back bowed off the bed as he got started with one long wet lick. He licked again, dropping one arm across her stomach to hold her still and then spread her apart with his other, finding what he was looking for, wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

Barb was pretty sure she was going to give him a concussion. Her legs were shaking, kicking, her hips were moving frantically, her body driving towards the thing it wanted more than fucking life right now. She couldn't speak, couldn't scream—her hands were fisted in his hair, pushing and pulling where she wanted him and then trying to escape because it was too much. She couldn't, she was pulling back into the bed because she couldn't. But he had her. His tongue didn't stop and then she felt him pushing in, two fingers moving in and out and she screamed herself raw as her nails dug into his skull and everything broke apart behind her eyelids.

When he crawled back up her body, licking his lips like some sort of Cheshire cat, she wanted to look away, hide her face, but she couldn't. This wasn't same game anymore; they were both completely vulnerable to each other in this moment, and as he kissed her gently, tenderly, lining himself up and pushing in so slow it made her thighs come up lock around his hips she knew he knew. They weren't speaking—she was pretty sure she couldn't speak, but this wasn't...no one ever told her it could feel like this. As he began moving in and out, stretching and rubbing her she couldn't stop the tears that rolled down the side of her face. It was like she could feel everything he felt. Neither wanted anything but for the other to be happy, and her body just couldn't hold it in. This was the sort of emotion she'd run from her entire life.

Their bodies slipped against each other as sweat beaded; his face was buried in her neck as his rhythm picked up, his hips slamming into hers and her own met him thrust for thrust, the earlier sensitivity giving way to another slow build. It was like she couldn't get him deep enough—each thrust was close, but she needed more, deeper, harder.

"Bruce," she panted. "I need...harder."

It was like he had just been waiting for permission.

Pulling his upper body back he went up on his knees, pulled her legs over his shoulders, grabbed a hip with each hand and fucking pounded her.

She threw her hands up, bracing herself against the headboard and her vision faded as he hit that spot over and over and over again. She was bouncing off of him, their skin crashing against each other and she felt her legs start to tense, convulsing over his shoulders as her earlier sensitivity reappeared times infinity. She was mewling, crying out, shoving herself into each thrust and trying to pull away all at the same time. But she fought it because she didn't want this to end; she didn't ever want to leave this moment, this perfect moment when they both needed each other more than air. This moment when there was nothing left but need.

But she was too far gone to stop. He was drilling her into the bed and the orgasm that ripped through her bowed her back off the bed, curled her toes, and screamed her throat raw. He followed almost immediately his fingers digging into her hips as he jerked against her, his thighs trembling under her body and his head thrown back.

They collapsed—there was no other word for it. Neither had the energy to twitch, let alone rearrange their positions and he fell forward and to the side, barely getting her thigh thrown over his head before he twisted her past her admittedly impressive flexibility. She might have fallen asleep; she definitely took more than a few minutes to just remember how to breathe again. Her entire lower body felt sandpapered raw—even the breeze from the air conditioner was too much, but she wouldn't trade it for anything. She would go again right then because it was worth it; it was worth ever glorious second. It was perfect to just be able to touch him.

"You love me," he finally said into the stillness of the room.

"I love you," she answered with a sigh. "You knew that."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But now I believe it."

**A/N: Okay so this is it for awhile. There might be more; there might be revisions. Hell there might be a whole 'nother story. Anything is possible. But in the immediate future I've got to move across the country, do real life crap and basically be lame for an extended period of time. I did do my best to get us to a satisfying stopping point though! If you want more, well-I do like to write :) Pleasepleaseplease imagine from this point on more sexy times, more angst, more make-up sexy times, bat-babies if your imagination runs that way or not if it doesn't. Who knows what might happen from here on out, but in my imagination? Their going at it like it's going out style and they live happily ever after.**

**On the other side of things: I'm not Gail Simone. I appreciate the thought because good fanfiction (imo) imitates canon so, yeah-that's awesome. But no, I'm not Gail. This is just a hobby because I like writing stories, but even more than that, I love ff. I do. I freaking love it. And the fact that there are so many Bruce/Babs fans in the world? It warms the cockles of my dead shriveled heart. I always knew there had to be more of us out there!  
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**And as to criticisms: I'm pretty impervious to mean words. I think it comes with losing my soul somewhere along the way, but there are things that could have been written better. I wasn't kidding when I said I owed the world a better sex scene then the first one in Forbidden. Doesn't bother me a'tall if people wish there were things different and I'm happy to hear it because, in all honesty, that helps everyone become a better writer. So bring it on! And feel free to revise whatever you don't like in your own head. I look at ff as a public activity you know? There are things I'll never do because they aren't to my taste, but I'm happy to try different things out. As I've said before I don't have a beta-these stories get a little bit of planning and a little bit of proofreading so keep that in mind. But I'll write to the level that's demanded of me-feel free to demand more :) At the end of the day, though, ff is about fantasy and my fantasy is Bruce/Babs. I don't have to justify it nor should anyone else. Ship wars are stupid because how do you tell someone their otp is wrong? That's the beauty of the internet. We all get our own sandbox. That's the only thing that's been said so far that gave me an honest to god "wtf?" moment. That being called twilight-esque. That's just a low blow.**

**So yeah. I don't normally respond to such length, but I set a precedent in the comments and I wanted to stick to that. AND I AM SO EXCITED FOR THE FANART! For serials. You guys are the best :)  
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**p.s. I totally sex-pollened the shit out of this. But it just helps smooth pesky things like "character development" and "forward movement" along. So sue me.  
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